


Baby (you're my picket fence)

by sleeplessflower



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Out, Teenagers, f-slur, reference to the movie, theres ment. of other characters but very brief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 13:56:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12234246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplessflower/pseuds/sleeplessflower
Summary: When did he first notice?When did it first happen?When did he realise he was into guys?He knows that it’s not something you ‘become’. You’re born like that. He knows that. But he can’t help but ask himself. Because suddenly Eddie Kaspbrak became a gay boy.Of course, it happened around the same time that Richie Tozier became a gay too. But everyone expected that. Of course, foulmouth, fuck-your-mom, weird little loser boy Richie would be a gay. His parents knew, his friends knew, everyone knew. The only difference between Richie and Eddie was that Richie didn’t care.Eddie working up to confessing his love to Richie with some flashbacks





	Baby (you're my picket fence)

**Author's Note:**

> henlo  
> there was an original one of these but it was nsfw and i want happy iwth it so have more touchy feely instead  
> im gonna warn again theres mention of self harm and the f-slur (f*g) is used.  
> title is kind of from miss missing you bu fall out boy except the lyric is changed a litte  
> anyway i projected myself onto richie because hes my fave and also yeah eddies a lil bitchy but thats his character. anxiety.

How long have they been friends?

Eddie struggles to remember, thinks of the passing years, thinks back to the time they first met. They were six, right?

Holy crap, that’s almost ten years. That can’t be right. Eddie thinks for a moment, of the year, of his age, and yeah, that’s ten years.

 _Only four years since_ ** _that_** . His mind chimes in and he shakes his head. No reason to think of that, especially in a situation like this.

Right.

This.

 

Eddie steps onto Richie’s porch, hand wavering at the door. Now or never. He knocks, loud and sure, even though his other hand is shaking as it grips the edge of his shorts.

“Just a minute!” he hears Richie call through the house, hears the pounding of rushing feet.

 

The moment Eddie sees Richie’s his mind betrays him. All he can see -- even though it’s been years now, he swears he’ll never forget, even as he locks it in the recess of his mind later in his life -- is that clown, his hand growing, rippling with size, bursting out of the glove, taunting laugh. All he can feel is Richie’s hand gripping his neck, his sure words _‘Eddie, look at me, look at me!’_ and the absolutely batshit scared look in Richie’s eyes, the shaking of his arm, the warmth in his face, the warmth in his chest as he locked eyes with him.

 

“Eddie.” Richie pauses for a moment, and Eddie catches the glint in his eye. “You come to tell me your mom’s finally ready-” he motions up and down himself, his shitty amalgamation of an outfit “-for all this?”

“No! Jesus.” Eddie feels nervous laughter bubble up, escaping his throat like a trapped goose.

“Alright well,” Richie steps aside, letting Eddie in. “Tell me when she is.” a pause, and Richie leans in, his next word a whisper. “I’ll be waiting.”

Eddie chuckles as he walks through Richie’s house, his palms wetting themselves again and again, no matter how many times he wipes them on his pants. Richie’s house is as familiar as ever, and he flings his bag onto the floor as he jumps onto the couch. He can’t go straight to Richie’s room like the usually do, the prospect is still a little intimidating.

“You want anything?” Richie asks, casually heading into the kitchen, not even bothering to sit with Richie first. They’re too close to even bother with that formal shit.

“Nah, ‘m good.” Eddie tries not to let his voice waver.

 

_“You good, man?”  was the first thing Richie had said to him once they’d gotten out of the sewer._

_“Do I look like I’m good?” he’d snapped back. In his defense, he was tired, beaten up, mentally scarred, and had just spent god knows how long wading around in grey water. All for some girl. His mind told him, curling into spitefulness. He knew that wasn’t it, but everything ached and he had a broken arm, and to add to injury, everything he thought he knew was a fucking lie._

_“Yeah, fuck. I guess none of us are.” Richie pushed the hair out of his face with his hand. There was a silence, as they trudged through the forest -- wet, stinky, sweaty, and hurting all over. Not to mention that_ **_It_ ** _wasn’t dead. “How’s your arm?”_

_“What?”_

_“Your arm, dude. The arm that got totally and absolutely fucked. The arm that is fucked.” Richie quipped, and Eddie won’t admit that he laughed, but he did._

_“Shit, I forgot it was even broken. Trying not to die does that I guess.” Eddie didn’t have it in him to laugh at his own joke. Richie did, apparently._

_“Yeah.” Richie didn’t say anything after that. They walked home, in silence. Eddie waved Richie off, went inside, ran to his mom, cried in her arms._

 

“So what’s up dude?” Richie sat down next to Eddie, can in his hand. Eddie’s mind stutters for a moment.

“Just wanted to hang out, is all.” he scratches at his shirt for a second, nervously.

“Just the two of us?” Richie sips at whatever’s in the can -- beer, soda, who fucking knows -- and leans back. “Kind of a… fag thing isn’t it? Kinda.. Uh, fag-y?” Eddie knows he’s trying to make light of it, trying to to joke, but it hits him in the wrong spot.

 

When did he first notice?  
When did it first happen?  
When did he realise he was into guys?  
When did he become a faggot?

He knows that it’s not something you ‘become’. You’re born like that. He knows that. But he can’t help but ask himself. Because suddenly -- not only to him, to everyone, the bullies, his friends, fucking _everyone_ \-- Eddie Kaspbrak became a gay boy. A fag.  
Of course, it happened around the same time that Richie Tozier became a fag. But everyone expected that. Of course, foulmouth, fuck-your-mom, weird little loser boy Richie would be a fag. His parents knew, his friends knew, everyone knew. The only difference between Richie and Eddie was that Richie didn’t care.

 

“Richie.” Eddie doesn’t mean to let his voice warble. “Don’t.” And instantly Richie’s looking away.

“Sorry dude.” His apology is quiet, his nails working at the skin of his upper arm. “I forgot.” Eddie can’t grasp at the idea that Richie forgot. He’s never forgotten Eddie’s birthday, or his favourite movie, or his least favourite candy, or his spare inhaler he always leaves at his house. When all that is just as important, how could Richie forget this? Still, he breathes.

“It’s fine.” he looks to his left, into the hall, up, to the ceiling, in front of him to Richie’s TV, and to his left, just down, right at where Richie’s right hand is on couch, supporting his weight.

He moves slow, shifting until his hand is blanketing Richie’s. His hand is warm, and Eddie feels his chest clench with that unmistakable feeling he gets whenever he touches Richie, whenever Richie touches him. Richie tilts his head up and back, so he can lift the can to his lips again. He flips his hand, slowly, interlocking their fingers. Eddie takes this as incentive, moving slowly, his other hand still shaking, still sweating.

Still moving slow, Eddie shifts close and closer, watching as Richie hesitates with drinking. He looks at Eddie out of the corner of his eye, lips parting. He places the can onto the coffee table in front of him and turns.  
They lean in, and their lips meet kind of haphazardly, clashing a little too fast, making their teeth clack. Richie laughs for a moment and the messy movement, and Eddie shushes him. Eventually they find a rhythm, heads slotted together like puzzle pieces, like they were always meant to fit together. It doesn’t speed up, it never needs to -- Eddie distantly remembers how it used to, how it would be rushed, how they would be scared they’d lose each other -- they can take their time.   
Richie’s the first to move, his hand snaking from where it was interlocked with Eddie’s, cupping around the back of his neck, fingers brushing into his hair. He pulls forward, waiting for Eddie to open his mouth, to allow his tongue to slip in. Eddie gasps when this happens, like it’s the first time Richie’s doing it, his hands twitching to grip something as he feels that telltale spark of lust in his lower belly. It dances there, waiting to be fed. Richie pulls back, and Eddie hardly feels like he can breathe. He has to stop, to check he’s not having an asthma attack before, he looks up at Richie from under his lashes.

Richie swears under his breath, his fingers dancing along the base of Eddie’s skull as he pulls him in for another kiss. Eddie’s mind swims as they pull each other closer, their kisses slowly but surely becoming more and more fervent. Eddie’s so caught up in the moment, so engrossed in the whispers Richie’s bestowing that he hardly realises his hardon getting palmed.

Eddie pauses, his hands gripping Richie’s forearm, pushing him away. Richie freezes.

“What?” He’s looking Eddie directly in the eyes now. His lips are red -- redder than usual -- and he’s panting, if softly. “You okay?”

“Yeah, totally.”  Eddie pauses. “I…” He can’t. His throat locks up and his heart is beating a million miles per hour.

 

_“Uh, not to be an asshole,” Eddie started, not even daring to step by the water. “But what exactly are we doing back here?”_

_“You know what we’re doing, Eddie.” Bill replied. He won’t make eye contact with any of them._ _  
_ _Eddie was vaguely aware of what they were doing -- of course, he’d gone on a whim, Richie coming over to his house, saying something about a picnic, in honour of Georgie, in honour of_ **_that._ ** _Eddie had agreed, of course. But Bill hadn’t informed them of where he’d wanted in held. So there they were, in the woods, at the shoreline of the stream that lead into the sewer system._

_“Yeah, I know what we’re doing.” Eddie looked downstream, to the opening of the sewer. “But it’s not exactly safe, is it?”_

_“What do you mean, it’s fine. No-one’s going to drown.”_

_“You know what i mean, Bill.” Eddie snapped. “What if_ **_it_ ** _comes back?”_

_“ **It’s** dead, Eddie.” _

_“That’s not true.” Eddie’s heart felt as if it was going to jump out of his chest. “We all saw it. We know **it’s** still out there.” he could see Richie out of the corner of his eye, move closer, feel their hands link. “I’ve only just got the fucking cast off, Bill.” _

_“It’s been a year. **It** won’t come back.” Bill seemed sure of what he was saying, but none of them knew. There was no way they could be sure. _

_“How long did it_ _take after Georgie?” he didn’t mean it. When he looks back at that day, at that conversation, he’ll always defend, because he was scared. He couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t move. He knows how much it hurt Bill, but how much would it hurt his parents if they lost their only living son?_

 

“Y’know what? Forget it.” Eddie smooths his hands out on his shorts. “It’s not a big deal.” He can’t look Richie in the eyes, can’t bare to look at the concern -- _the pity_ his mind distantly adds -- seeded deep within them.

“Like fuck it is, dude.” Richie retorts, his hands blanketing Eddie’s. “We are in this shit together.” His hands slowly move up Eddie’s arms, creeping up to where they cup his face. “If there’s something up, you gotta tell me.”   
And Eddie feels like he might cry. He nods, softly. It’s not even bad, not even a big deal. Fuck, this is supporting evidence. But a frog still sits in his throat, and he can’t even choke it out. “If it’s really bad, you don’t even have to say it.” He adds. “You can just write it down. I swear i just want to help, man.”

 

_“Rich…” Eddie didn’t know how to start, what to say. “I’m worried about you.”_

_He won’t forget this. He never will. It’s in his mind, a locked secret he swore never to tell anyone. He didn’t even tell his mom, didn’t even tell Richie’s. This was something that stayed between them. He remembers the first time he noticed; Richie pushed up his sleeves to do something, then, after a moment of hesitation pushed them back down. No-one else seemed to say anything, no-one else seemed to notice, concentrating on something else. Eddie caught it though, the unmistakable uniform cuts along the pale inside of his arm._ _  
_ _It had made Eddie unfathomably scared. It had made him worried, he’d beat himself up for not noticing sooner. He’d confronted Richie about it, talk to him about working it out. Of course, it wasn’t done and dusted in an instant, and it wouldn’t be able to be forgotten, -- Richie still has the white lines, on his arms, his thighs -- but it was something that made Eddie realise that he wasn’t the only one with scarring, he wasn’t the only one still scared of the clown. That through all his facade, through all the jokes and quips, Richie was as scared as the rest of them._

 

“It’s..” Almost, almost there. Eddie looked into Richie’s eyes. “It’s nothing bad, I promise. I’m just nervous.”

“Okay.” Richie made a noise of consideration. “Then just get it over with. That’s the best thing to do.”

“But I’m scared that if I do-”

“Nothing’s gonna happen.” Richie let his thumbs stroke along Eddie’s cheeks, slow, soft. “You’re safe here.”

 _Not from your rejection._ Eddie thought to himself, breaking eye contact to look at the sofa between them, at their tangled legs.

“I think I’m in love with you, dude.”

**Author's Note:**

> smash that mf like if you cried


End file.
